


Clinical Trial

by oleanderedits



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, M/M, Medical stuff, Mental Projection, Telepathy, as you do with this sort of thing, playing fast and loose with it, sci-fi stuff, some doctors being sinister
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 11:15:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14354325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oleanderedits/pseuds/oleanderedits
Summary: An attempt at quick cash goes sideways in a most unexpected manner.





	1. Sign Up

  _"...Your World is about to get a whole lot bigger."_

**=*=**

The spokesman's smooth voice echoed through the room as the lights came up and the screens went dark, receding into the walls until they were needed again. Most places like this went with a friendly-sounding woman for voice-overs. Daryl had followed Merle into enough of them to know. He supposed it was to make the men coming to them feel at ease or maybe that random chicks were going to be more attracted to them afterward because of whatever the pill or shot or terrible tasting drink was supposed to do to 'enhance' their natural endowments.

First time he'd followed Merle into one, he'd given his brother a disbelieving look, because really? Male Enhancement Clinical Trials? But apparently they paid good money to test shit that did a whole lot of nothing save occasionally give someone a four-hour boner now and then. Merle never came away from them feeling any different from what he said and Daryl wasn't about to have a look-see for himself. He saw enough of his brother when the man was too high or drunk to get himself dressed properly in the mornings. Didn't need to see any more than that.

Of course, that wasn't a problem anymore. After the last arrest and Merle getting five years without parole because of past abuses and convictions, Daryl was left pretty much bereft of any means. It was either Merle footing his bills with drug money as he followed the man around or his Pa footing the bills when Merle wasn't around to follow, and all the baggage that came with that. Since Merle was in the clink, that meant going back to Daddy and maybe Uncle Jess if he were around. 

But the clincher, and the reason Daryl was here at all, listening to the promises being made on the screen and in the pamphlets and by the lovely looking woman coming to stand at the front of the room to tell them how groups would be organized for the one week stay, was that after attending the sentencing, Daryl didn't have enough cash on him to get back home. He wasn't too upset about that, because their Daddy was a jackass and beat the shit out of him when he got into a mood. But he was all Daryl had right now and the only place he had to go.

So an overnight, week-long, clinical trial it was. The free room and board on top of the whole two thousand dollars for participation was just icing on the cake. Merle had gotten more in other trials, so he knew it wasn't entirely unusual for that kind of price tag to pop up. Only reason he hadn't rejected out of kind, really. Had he not seen Merle get as much or more in the past, he'd have thought it a scam.

The woman finished her explanation and started passing out the paperwork to sign. This was where Daryl usually filtered out of these things while Merle stayed and had shit done to him. This time was all him, though. A few of the other men in the room glanced over the documents, faces betraying nervousness and uncertainty, before quietly getting up and leaving. Every trial was a risk and this was one they didn't want to take. Was fair enough.

When the documents were handed to him, he didn't bother looking up. Pulled out a pen and made ready to sign. Gave the papers a glance over and had the ballpoint hovering over the dotted line when one of the potential side effects caught up with his brain:

_Hallucinations: May experience periods of audio, visual, or olfactory input of events, people, or places that are not there._

He lifted his pen and frowned. Merle hadn't mentioned any of the previous trials he'd been in having that as a complication. He raised his hand to get the woman's attention.

"Yes, Mr..." she didn't know any of their names and pseudonyms were perfectly acceptable, so she was letting him pick what he wanted to be called.

He cleared his throat and murmured just loud enough to be heard, "Daryl. Daryl's fine. Just uh... had a question about the side effects."

"Of course, what would you like to know?"

Daryl sniffed and swiped a hand across his nose, tapping the paper, "This one here. The whole seeing things... how common are those?"

"Not very," she assured him with a smile. "However as it is a trial, we can't assure you it won't happen. If it's something that concerns you deeply, we won't be offended by your choice not to undergo the trial. We fully understand how disturbing such effects can be even with the knowledge they're a possibility."

He licked his lips and tapped the pen against the paper before taking a deep breath and signing. Shook his head at her and blew off the concern, "Nah, just wonderin'." Even as much as he didn't enjoy the feeling of being high and the visions it could bring, he needed the money more. Probably wasn't anything he couldn't deal with just fine.

**=*=**

They set him up in a small private room made to be minimalist but not bare. Bed wasn't a hospital bed, but it wasn't much bigger than one, either. Not a lot of room to stretch out. Fairly plush, though. His fingers sunk into the mattress a good half inch before the cushion was too compressed for them to go further. There was a small bedside table with two drawers bolted to the floor next to it. Enough space to put clothing in for the duration of the trial and not much else. Another, slightly larger, table was near the door with a chair that would have fit right in at any cheap roadside motel. Probably where he'd be eating his meals and doing crosswords or something. Flush against the wall opposite both the bed and table hung a decent sized flat screen. And just to the left of it was an open door leading to the toilet and shower. Obvious cameras were mounted in two opposing corners. But none could be seen in the bathroom when he checked it out.

"Everything good?" The nurse that showed him to his room asked after he'd had some time to explore the space. 

Daryl looked up at the cameras and waved vaguely at one, "Those on all the time?"

The nurse nodded, giving an understanding smile, "Yes. We'll be monitoring your vitals remotely with the band I'll be applying soon, but we'll need to monitor you visually as well. In addition to the daily reviews, this will help the-"

Daryl waved a hand at her to shut her up. He got it. It was all about studying the reactions and shit. He understood that. Just wasn't used to it. Then he pointed to the toilet, "No cameras in there?"

"No," the nurse confirmed. "The only time we can see into the restroom is when you have the door open. One of the cameras allows us to monitor the sink area if that's the case. It's important should someone feel the need to-"

"Yeah, I get it. Just shut the door if ya want some privacy."

"Yes." She smiled again, not at all phased by the impatient interruptions. She seemed like she'd been through this kind of rodeo a dozen times before. An old pro.

Once he went quiet and started stowing his things, she moved to the small basket of supplies she'd brought along and set on the table, "If you could remove your jacket? I need to take your blood pressure, temperature, and prepare the monitor band site."

Daryl did so in silence. It was just cold enough out that sleeved jackets were a thing he needed. But his shirt had the usual frayed edges where sleeves used to be. The nurse stuck a thermometer in his mouth while she took his blood pressure. She made noises about everything being all good and then brought out a thin plastic band about a foot and a half long. One side was smooth, the other had small nodes attached from what he could see. She had him lift his arm and cleaned part of his left bicep with a sanitation wipe. Then she carefully started wrapping the band around it. There was a slight pinching sensation that was just painful enough to make him jump as she brought the band under his arm and started doubling it over to seal it.

"Sorry," she murmured, glancing over briefly to gauge his reaction before letting her attention go back to what she was doing. "It didn't hurt too much did it?"

"Nah, just... felt like ya caught some skin between the two ends," Daryl answered, frowning and watching her finish up. The band was flush against his skin and probably wouldn't budge too much. Well sealed, it looked like, too.

She let out a self-depreciating puff of air while she cleaned up her small mess, "Sorry, again, then. It can be hard to tell how tight to pull it when going under the arm to attach it. As long as it's not too tight and you aren't in any pain, it should sit fine for the duration of your stay. When you shower, try not to scrub around the edges. It's safe to let the water run over it, but like any band-aid, if you break the seal, it'll come right off."

"And this'll monitor my vitals ya said?"

"Yes. It has limited range for sending signals, but will work within the confines of this facility. It's fairly new technology. Unfortunately not yet useful in major hospitals because of the signal strength issue. Once the manufacturers get that fixed, I'm sure it'll be put into mass production. It's so much better than hooking people up to bulky machines that don't let them move around." She shook her head, clearly very happy the trial was able to use them. Her supplies and trash were cleaned up. She tapped a small intercom next to the door that he'd missed earlier because she'd been standing in front of it. "If you need anything outside of when we bring you the pills and come for evaluations, just press the button to talk and make your requests. We have a small library of books and newspapers. And the kitchen is open from 7 AM to 9 PM. You'll find a menu in the top drawer and the remote to the television. One of the doctors will be here soon to give you your pre-medication evaluation and first dosage."

She paused for a second, her smile blooming big and bright, before turning around and walking out the door, shutting it behind her.

Once bereft of her presence, the place felt far less inviting than it had before. More sterile. More uncaring. He shook the sudden feelings off with a shake of his shoulders and head as he pulled open the drawer and grabbed the remote. It was good money and room and board for a week and Merle had been in plenty of these things and come away just fine. Whatever ill-ease he was feeling was just because he'd never done this before so he needed to stop being a wuss.


	2. Day 1

The pill part of the trial didn't officially start until the next day. Both to give the participants time to settle in and so the medical staff could have a chance to monitor their vitals under 'normal' conditions for a period of roughly sixteen hours. The first evaluation, however, happened about an hour after Daryl had been there. 

A soft knock came at the door before it was opened. Just long enough for Daryl to shut the television off and start sitting up before a slightly weaselly-looking man wearing glasses with a name tag that read 'Milton' stepped in like he owned the place. 

He smiled politely but it didn't really reach his eyes and there was clear judgement in his gaze as he set his folder on the table and held a hand out to shake, "Doctor Milton. It's nice to meet you Mr. Dixon."

Daryl glanced down at the hand, then back up to the man's face, tilting his head so his chin raised up and he could look down at the snobbish doctor. He didn't get up from the bed.

Milton waited a couple moments before getting the message and pulled his hand back. He cleared his throat, adjusted his glasses, and took a deep breath before sitting down, "For our preliminary evaluation I'm going to need to ask you some fairly personal questions. About your sex life. Please be honest in your answers. It's very important that we have as accurate a baseline estimations of your reaction to the pill as possible to judge how much it has effected you once you begin taking it."

Daryl grunted, nodding his head when the man looked back up at him for an answer.

A slightly more pained and exasperated smile stretched his lips as he clicked his pen, "Great. Let's begin, shall we?"

How long had he been sexually active across his lifetime?  Since he was 14, technically. What did technically mean? He got his first blow job during his freshman year at the homecoming game.

Was he currently sexually active? No. How long had it been since he'd had sex? A few years. Was this by choice or lack of arousal? Little of both, probably. How much of each? 70-30. More out of choice than not getting it up.

Did he still experience post-sleep erections? Yeah. Couple times a week. How often did he experience erections other than post-sleep erections? Not sure. Never really paid attention to it.

Preferred sexual partners? What did that have to do with anything? So they know what kind of stimulation he responds best to. Never thought about it. Was he sure? Yes, he was, could they move on now?

Absolutely! Did he pleasure himself on a regular basis? Remember how long he usually lasted from arousal to ejaculation with direct contact stimulation? Without? And what about-

After a frustrating half hour of Daryl getting more and more cagey with his answers - though still honest about every last one of them except the preferred partners one - Doctor Milton finally shut his folder. He stood up, pushed the chair in, adjusted his glasses again, and gave a clearly fake smile that he strained to maintain. He thanked Daryl and left without further preamble, shutting the door much too fast for a professional such as him.

As far as Daryl was concerned, the prick could sit and spin. He might never have done one of these trials before but hell if they needed to know half of what they asked.

**=*=**

Dinner was delivered at 7:30 PM on the dot and with it came a small stack of papers, magazines, and a couple pens. One was the TV Guide for the week. Useful for planning out general entertainment. One was a hunting and fishing magazine he'd asked for when he'd ordered the dinner. Another was a second hunting magazine he'd never heard of. The papers were a notepad with a space for the time and date at the top and general symptoms and feelings on the bottom so he could record anything unusual between official evaluations. 

The magazines he set on the bedside table for later. The food he ate up in minutes, shoving the plate and utensils off to the side and out of the way. The notepad he wrote on:

_7:48pm_

_Feeling like you should send a doctor who ain't a jackass next time around. Grub was decent. Thanks for the extra magazine. Ain't seen that one before._

After re-reading it, he flipped to the next page and set it on the bedside table as well. He'd get serious tomorrow. Maybe. If the pill did anything. He supposed if it was anything like most of them advertised he might be at risk of having it up for four hours. That'd probably be painful. But otherwise... well, there was a risk of hallucinations...

Daryl took a deep breath, pushed the thought aside, and turned on the television again. Better to not think about it and just deal with it if it happened.

**=*=**

The morning started early with the lights coming on automatically at 7 AM. He was already half-awake just from his usual sleeping habits, but it was still jarring to have the lights suddenly on when he'd been enjoying that half-doze in the dark.

He was wincing as a nurse entered with a covered tray and basket of whatever. She smiled at him, genuine and apologetic, if a bit amused. Said she was sorry for the early wake up but that they wanted to make sure he had some food in him a few hours before he took his first pills. His dosage was apparently scheduled to come between eleven and noon. 

Daryl rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and asked if it was alright if he took a piss first. She blushed some, ducking her head, and nodded. Turned her back while he walked over to the toilet and shut the door. Her back was still turned to him when he walked out a few minutes later. 

He came up behind her and cleared his throat. She jumped slightly and looked up at him before gesturing to one of the chairs and asking him to sit. She needed to stay while he ate to ensure the meal was finished and then she'd be off with the dishes. He thought it was a little stupid they needed her to stay and watch, but it wasn't a big deal either way.

The food was gone in under ten minutes. A big stack of pancakes, some sausage, and a bowl of orange slices. All washed down with his choice of orange juice or water. It wasn't an overly large meal by any means, no where near on par with a diner. But it was better than most hospitals gave. He supposed the trial people wanted everyone to feel fairly comfortable in most areas when the focus of the trial was something most decent people found very uncomfortable to address.

When he was done, the nurse took the tray and plates from both breakfast and dinner the night before. She thanked him, though she didn't say what she was thanking him for, then left him to his own ends for the next few hours.

He spent those taking a shower and changing into the loose exercise pants - not quite sweats, not quite hospital gown - and shirt that was in the bottom drawer while he tied his normal clothes up in the laundry bag and set it to the side for one of the nurses to take later. After the shower was over, he picked up a magazine to pass the rest of the time.

At exactly Noon on the clock, a knock came at the door and Doctor Milton once more graced Daryl with his presence. He had a small paper cup in one hand and that same folder he'd had the day before. His smile was just as fake. He set the cup on the table and frowned at something as he glanced around the room.

"Didn't the nurse bring you water with your breakfast?" He asked after spinning in place a couple times while making sure he hadn't missed seeing anything.

Daryl raised his eyebrows and shrugged, "Drank it."

The Doctor stared at him for a long moment before sighing and dropping all pretenses at politeness. He took the pill cup and turned it upside down so the pills didn't roll away, then lifted it up and held it out to Daryl, "Go fill this up in the bathroom. You'll need it to swallow these."

Daryl eyed the cup before taking it slowly, adding to Doctor Milton's exasperation. But he did take it and headed into the bathroom to fill it. While he was in there, he glanced out to see the Doctor pulling out a chair and opening up his folder to write a few things down. When Daryl came back he took a sip out of the cup, causing Milton to freeze up for a second. Daryl could swear he saw a small twinge around one eye. Made him smile.

He set the cup down and took his own seat, turning the chair around so he could straddle it and lean on the back. Milton asked him some general questions about how he was feeling, when he woke up, etc, etc. Nothing nearly as personal as the day before. Once he was done, he handed the pills over and watched Daryl take them. Noting the exact time Daryl swallowed. He shut his folder and stood up quickly after that. Definitely determined to get out of Daryl's presence as fast as possible.

"We'll be monitoring your vitals for the next six hours. We expect to see initial reactions within the next hour and for your arousal to last no more than forty minutes. Go about watching television or reading a book. You may even see fit to try and lessen your arousal if you'd like. Though I suggest doing so in the restroom if that's your plan. We'd really prefer not to see that if we don't have to. Whatever reactions you do have, we'd like you to document them in your own words and I'll be back at 6 PM for your evening evaluation."

With that, the Doctor exited the room before Daryl could even give a by-your-leave.

Daryl picked up the notepad and wrote:

_12:47 PM_

_Doctor Milton's a prick. Get better doctors. Liked the nurse that brought me breakfast. She was nice. Didn't catch her name. Should have doctors more like her._

**=*=**

_1:33 PM_

_Feeling a little hot. Flushed. That's the word, ain't it?_

_1:42 PM_

_Still feel warm, but ain't sporting no wood._

_2:30 PM_

_Time feels like it's passing real slow. Everything is taking way too long. Been watching the clock the last half hour. Still ain't feel nothing in my dick. That form ain't said nothing about getting a fever._

 

_3:43 PM_

_Fever's passed I think. Ain't feeling hot no more. Think yer pill is worth shit if this is all it's gonna do._

**=*=**

"Mr. Dixon." Milton greeted him curtly at 6 PM and got right to it. He sat down and pulled the notepad over to look at it while flipping the folder open. He didn't speak for a couple minutes after, making notes of his own before pushing the pad back toward Daryl.

"Thank you for writing down your experiences today. However it seems you failed to jot down what happened at 3:22PM."

Daryl chewed at his thumb, meeting the doc's eyes before looking away and shrugging, "Nothin' important."

"According to the cameras, you sat up in bed, reached out in front of you, and said 'Don't'." Milton paused, waiting expectantly a moment, then added, "The television wasn't on."

Daryl shrugged again, this time mumbling around his thumb, "Saw someone. Weren't important."

"If you're seeing visions, it's very important. The testing we're doing is to find a version of the formula we've developed that doesn't cause hallucinations, however minor they may seem. Who did you see, Mr. Dixon? Why did you say 'Don't'."

"Just someone. They was leaving and I tried to get 'em to stop 'fore I realized they weren't real."

"Why did you want them to stay?"

Daryl cleared his throat and crossed his arms, looking away from Milton as he forced an answer out, "They was pretty and made me... you know. What we're here for."

Milton stared at him for a long moment, eyebrows raising slowly. Then he offered in question, "Aroused? The person you saw was attractive enough to make you feel aroused?"

Daryl coughed again and nodded, not comfortable with giving more details.

"So this person... were they a... woman?"

Daryl shot the man a scathing look, "What kind of question is that?" 

"Just making sure," Milton protested the sudden anger with raised hands, taking the question exactly like Daryl expected him to, and made a quick entry in his notes, "So you saw an attractive woman and wanted her to stay, but she 'left' before you could get anywhere. Did you feel any sort of lingering arousal once the hallucination passed?"

He shook his head, thumb going back to his mouth to keep it occupied. The rest of the Q&A went about the same. With Daryl defensive and Milton having to edge around the proverbial minefields. The doctor left, very frustrated, 6:52PM.

**=*=**

_6:53 PM_

_Milton's still an asshole._


	3. 3:22 PM

There was a man in his room. He'd appeared out of nowhere. Well, that wasn't quite true. He'd appeared out of the wall. Like he'd stumbled through it. He saw Daryl and his eyes went wide and when Daryl frowned at him, he'd lifted a hand and mouthed something. No sound coming out. But he looked like he was pleading with Daryl. Concerned about something, a little frantic as he moved around the room and took it in. Kept trying to talk and be heard with not a lick of noise following those sad eyes as realization sunk in.

Daryl leaned back in his bed and watched the man for a bit, how he seemed to deflate as he moved to sit on the bed near Daryl's feet. His brown hair hung down just past his shoulders and his beard looked decently well-kept. Well brushed but a little on the shaggy side. He was dressed in what had to be a uselessly over-warm leather duster and black gloves. Under it was a loose shirt that looked like it could use a bit of a wash and cargo pants on the baggy side. Combat boots to finish it. For a hallucination of someone Daryl had never seen before, he was ridiculously detailed.

Ridiculously pretty, too. Just the kind of guy Daryl pretended he couldn't stand but often dreamed about cornering him in the back of some bar. The sort that could be a new-age hippie or a college philosophy student. Maybe a young professor. Educated, smart, with a smile that made his heart feel lighter. Even when tinged with wistful melancholy as it was now.

The man was still talking. Obviously to himself at this point, but every so often he'd look at Daryl and that sad smile would curve his lips. He almost looked like he'd just given up on something and decided whatever had concerned him to that point didn't matter. It was more than a little distracting, confusing, in a few different ways when Daryl was feeling as feverish as he was.

"Don't."

The word slipped out before he could stop himself and he sat up. Tucked his legs up and reached out, not quite making it to man before he started to drop his hand. The man watched him, brows creasing together in confusion and curiosity. His image had started to fade, whatever was in the pills they gave him easing up. The fever lessening. 

Daryl's hand sank heavily into the mattress in front of him as the concern evaporated from the man's face and he smiled. Big. Genuine. Happy. Like he'd found hope again.

After he was gone, Daryl's eyes fell to the space between his legs, the fabric of the mattress and the abandoned notepad. He could write down what he saw. The pretty face, the eyes he could get lost in if only they'd stuck around a little longer. The smile.

God, that smile.


	4. Day 2

Wake up time was, once again, 7AM. The lights came up and the nurse came in. Different one this time. Older than the first was but with just as big a smile and apology for the sudden brightness. As with the first day, she stuck around until he was done with the meal provided, thanked him, and then left. 

If the schedule was going to be that exact, then he had four hours before his pills came. Though he hadn't asked, no one had explicitly said he couldn't leave his room to stretch his legs. He figured as long as he was back by eleven and stuck around until the evening evaluation so they could film him, he was probably fine to explore a bit.

He paused at the door and glanced back before deciding to take the notepad and pen with him along with his watch.

**=*=**

About an hour after he started walking around the facility he found himself standing outside a large room full of beds lined up in neat rows six wide and two deep. Only three of the beds were occupied, right in the back. It was set up in the way one always saw the newborn rooms set up in movies. Except, of course, it was for adults to be observed.

So far his assumption that it was okay to move around the place hadn't been challenged by anyone he'd passed. Most of them had glanced at his armband before looking up at his face and smiling. No one stopped him and a few even smiled and waved. Milton might have been an asshole of a doctor, but the rest of the people seemed okay. Helped take the edge off his paranoia that they were doing to do something dastardly to him.

He hadn't run into anyone else who wasn't an obvious employee of the facility, though. Made him wonder if they thought they had to be stuck in their rooms or if there weren't that many others to begin with. Also, what the hell was up with this room? He was pretty sure it had nothing to do with penis pills.

"Long term coma studies," a female voice to his left startled him out of his thoughts, making him jump, one arm coming up as if to block a blow before he could stop himself.

The woman took a step back and smiled ruefully, "My apologies. I should have made sure you heard me there." She was dressed in a doctor's coat and extended her hand, "Doctor Candace Jenner. I run this section of the facility."

Daryl looked down at her hand, breathing heavy for a few long moments, then tentatively took it and gave it a shake. Just one quick one. Enough to be polite. Then he crossed his arms and looked back at the room, chin lifting, "They're in comas? They volunteer for that?"

The woman grimaced and shook her head, "Not as such, no. Two have been in comas for long enough their families were having trouble affording the cost of care but didn't want to pull the plug. It was simply too much for them. We offered to take them as study participant and essentially take on the financial burden for them in exchange for the opportunity. We make the offer to many families, but most decline. It's completely understandable. We can't guarantee any results or improvements in their conditions. The study is focused on brain activity and potential reactions to outside stimulation. More about correlation and seeing if any particular simulation results in higher brain activity in an attempt to find a trigger that might wake them. Again, no guarantee. But it's important work when so little is currently known about the many varieties of comas."

She paused and glanced over at him before laughing lightly and shaking her head to herself, "And I'm probably boring you. You have my apologies again. The only visitors this department has gotten lately has been Mr. Grimes' wife and son."

Daryl chewed on a thumb, giving a "mmmhmmm" at her words. In the silence that came next, he tilted his head and squinted his eyes at the three beds, "You said two of 'em were volunteered by their families. What about the third?"

Doctor Jenner opened her mouth and closed it as her head went down and she took a deep breath, letting it out in a long sigh, "He... had no family... to... volunteer him. Technically his care was being paid for by the state and if he ever woke up he'd be stuck with the bill. The state was more than happy to put him into our care so there was one less person they needed to foot the bill for. He's been in a coma for about two years now. It's not likely he'll ever come out of it. We have hopes for the other two, but... but not him. There was extensive head trauma."

"You ain't gonna get in trouble for telling me that?" Daryl asked, looking over at her and watching the regret melt away with a laugh.

"Goodness, no. It's all public knowledge, easily found if you do a look up on his name. No trouble at all." She turned to face him directly and gestured to the far side of the window's expanse, toward the door there, "As long as you don't touch any of the equipment, visitors are welcome to enter and speak with the patients while there's a nurse or doctor in the room. We find it's good for the study to have more than just our voices providing auditory stimulation."

Daryl stared at the door, considering, before shaking his head, "Nah. Got an appointment to keep. Should get back ta my room."

"Of course, but if you do find yourself back here, please, feel free," the doctor said and stepped to the side so he could pass. "It's nice to see patients getting visitors. Feels less lonely."

He didn't reply, but nodded his head and started back. He wouldn't come again today. Might come tomorrow. Give him something more to do than watch television or read the magazines they gave him.

**=*=**

 

Doctor Milton showed up at 11:30 this time. Daryl guessed whoever the trial participant was before him had taken less time than he had the day before. He was once more asked general questions about how he was feeling and if he felt like there were any aftereffects still lingering from the previous day's dosage. When he was assured that Daryl felt fine and nothing seemed to be sticking around, Milton handed over two pills for Daryl to take.

A different mix than the previous one, he was assured. They were out to test variations of a particular formula and figure out which one (or more) to move forward with post-study. Daryl didn't really care. Though he half-hoped and half-feared this one would make him hallucinate again. Didn't say that out loud, of course. Just... he kind of hoped the pretty boy might show up again and make things more interesting for him. Even if it was only imaginary.

After Milton left, Daryl got himself comfortable on the bed, notepad in his lap, legs tucked up loosely. The television came on this time and he settled in to wait for any effects to kick in.

He got half-way through a movie before he realized he'd started feeling drowsy. He assumed at first it was just him being bored, but after stretching and hopping off the bed to stand, he knew it had to be the pills. Getting upright caused the world around him to spin and tilt for a few seconds. He shut his eyes and nearly fell down when he blinked them open again, which was far more difficult than it had any right to be. He fumbled for the notepad and managed to get the pen to scratch it's surface before he passed out.

**=*=**

 

"Hey..." A soft voice, male, oddly familiar but not enough that he could place it, spoke near his ear. "Can you hear me? Try to shake your head or move a finger if you can."

Daryl tried to open his eyes but that wasn't working for some reason. 

"A frown is good, too," came the voice and he could almost hear laughter in it. "You're not going to be able to open your eyes. Sorry. But you're kind of... unconscious... at the moment."

Daryl snorted to himself. As if. If he were out cold he wouldn't be able to hear this guy.

"I know you don't believe me and that's okay," the man said.

Other than his voice he didn't make any other noise. No rustling of clothing or even the sound of him breathing. And where was the noise from the television? Outside of the man speaking it was eerily quiet.

"It's something that took me a long time to figure out. As long as you don't fall asleep on me, it'll be fine," he continued as if he were leaning right in against Daryl's ear, just loud enough to hear. "I'm not sure why, but it's only during the time someone's unconscious without being asleep that I can do this. Talk to them, I mean. To you. And I don't usually try on people who aren't... like me. But you saw me yesterday so I had to try. Sorry about that, too. I managed to slip into the nurse's head while she was tired enough to black out for a moment and get her to switch the pills on you. These aren't the ones you were supposed to get."

 _You drugged me?_ Daryl tried to say, but couldn't move his mouth. The thought just echoed around his head on repeat like a personal echo.

"Yeah. Sorry," the man repeated. "I mean, I can't touch you or anything. Just talk to you. And if it makes you feel better, the staff has already gotten you off the floor and hooked up to an IV."

_Can't feel that._

"Oh." The man sounded genuinely surprised and Daryl could imagine whoever it was blinking a couple times before he went on. "Usually they can feel everything."

_You drugged people like this before?_

"Well, no. Just... I've talked to people in this state before and they aren't cut off from feeling what's happening to them. I... I don't know what's causing that for you. The pills are just heavy duty muscle relaxers. They won't last more than a few hours."

_How I know you're telling the truth? Maybe yer just lying yer ass off to me while getting yer rocks off._

"...you realize you aren't actually speaking aloud, right? I'm not touching you. I'm just... here. In your head. I wanted to talk, that's all."

_So I'm hallucinating a voice in my head. Great._

"You're not hallucinating. I'm here, I'm just... I can't talk to anyone any other way. I can't even get back inside my own head. If I could I wouldn't be here at all. I can talk to Rick and he's fun to talk to sometimes, but other than him, it's just Gregory and he's a pain in the ass. You're the first person since the accident that can see me and the first I've tried talking to. I'm sorry it came out of no where. I just... I got excited and wanted to try."

Daryl tried to control his thoughts, but it seemed that whatever he thought about this guy could hear. He supposed that being a voice in his head, that should be expected though. But it was still weird. And what accident was he talking about anyway? If the drug wasn't going to last more than a few hours than-

"Not you falling down," the voice interrupted, sounding apologetic. "I know it's hard to process this and maybe when you're awake again you'll have an easier time. But I meant my accident. I-"

"-ing to... See? His eyes are moving," a new voice cut off the man's as feeling started to flood Daryl's limbs. There was a soreness in his right shoulder, a deep ache right at the bone and a throbbing pain on the left side of his face. He finally managed to blink and winced at how bright the light was as a doctor he hadn't met yet shined one of those little flashlight pens into his eyes.

"He's awake," the doctor said, looking up towards someone else Daryl could't see and then back down at him. "You took a bit of a blow to the head when you passed out, Mr. Dixon. You also hit your upper arm against bed as you fell so I expect that will bruise up over the next day. It doesn't look like you have a concussion, but we'd like to monitor you to be sure. And we'll need to run some tests, blood work and the like, to try and figure out why you responded to dosage the way you did. But we're can get to that after you've had some more time to wake up. Can you do me a favor and nod if you understand what I've just said to you?"

Daryl squinted at the doctor and lifted his good arm to cover his eyes from the light, "You ever shut up?"

The doctor chuckled, relief in his tone, "I'll take that as a yes." 

 


	5. Day 3

They kept him under observation for the rest of the second day, nurses coming in like they would at a regular hospital to check in on him and bring him a meal while going over his readouts to make sure he was okay. They did their best to keep him awake and aware after he came to for a good eight hours before they finally let him sleep. When he woke up again it, the clock read 9:46 and he could only assume it was in the morning. Evidence suggested nurses had already been by at least once if not more, as the IV he was hooked up to was full again and he was tucked in, blanket up over his waist, in a manner he rarely did for himself.

Daryl assumed that the clinical trial was going to be delayed at least a day, scratched at his stomach, and pushed the blanket off so he could get out of bed. Standing up had him feeling a little dizzy again. Probably from hitting his head. So he stood still, leaning against the bed, until the world stopped tilting, and then grabbed the IV stand and dragged it along the floor toward the toilet. He had to piss real bad. Hardly surprising after spending most of the last day in bed hooked up to a liquid feeder.

Getting the stand inside the bathroom took a little maneuvering, especially when trying to shut the door cause they made the damn things too small. Great for a trial-goer's personal relief, not so much for a patient getting any kind of long term treatment. Still, he managed to do what he needed and washed his hands after. Glancing up in the mirror he turned his head to check the spot that still had a little pain and winced at the bruise there. No busted skin, though. Had to assume that was good.

"Probably."

Daryl whipped his head around, stilled as his eyes scanned the otherwise empty room, heart hammering in his chest. Daryl waited until it started to slow down and spun the other direction. Room only had him.

He moved slowly back to looking in the mirror and froze when he saw the reflection of that pretty boy standing just behind him and to the left. The man gave a rueful smile and waved, "Hi."

Daryl turned back around, ready to punch him in the nose only to find he wasn't there. His eyes darted back to the mirror and yep, guy was standing there. Just... wasn't there.

"I'm not here. Not physically," he clarified, hands coming together at his waist where one thumb began rubbing at the palm of the other. "I wasn't actually expecting you to see or hear me. So this is kind of a pleasant surprise. Based on my trial and failure with pretty much everyone else, this is a bit of a fluke. Since as far as I know they don't have you on any drugs right now."

Daryl stared at the figure. He was dressed the same as the first time he'd seen him. And the voice was the one that was talking to him the day before when he couldn't feel nothing and could't move.

"Yeah, same person. I can still hear your thoughts," the man said, smiling and looking down. "You're pretty loud right now. Not sure why that is, either. Usually I can't hear anyone unless they're in that space between out and sleep. Or they're talking aloud. Didn't really hear you until you woke up, though. All I could hear was you thinking about how much you had to piss from half way across the facility. So I walked over here. Don't worry, I didn't come in the room until after I knew you were done."

Daryl continued to stare, unable to make sense of this. It wasn't at all like hallucinations he'd had before when hopped up on whatever drug Merle had decided to share with him. Back before he chose to stop taking them. Still remembered the experiences vividly. So he knew this was different.

The man dropped his hands in front of him, still clasped together, and straightened his shoulders, looking up to look Daryl in the eyes through the mirror, "It's because I'm not a hallucination. My name is Paul Rovia. I'm technically a patient here. Something happened a couple years back. I had an accident. Hit my head hard. I don't remember much from that time, but from what I could tell, about a month after I found myself like this. Locked out of my own head, but able to wander where no one could see or hear me. Unless they were high enough to see things or in that short state of being between going unconscious and drifting into sleep."

That didn't make no sense, though. If the man was locked out of his own head, then how was he a patient? How was he out for 'a couple years'?

"Coma," Paul supplied. "There's three of us here. Rick, Gregory, and me. Rick, he's been here a couple months now, he gets visitors. His son, Carl, and his wife, Lori. They come twice a week. After school on Wednesday and Saturday morning. Sometimes his partner comes to see him, too. His name's Shane, but he's a lot more unpredictable. Gregory's family lives too far to seem him regularly. He's only been here since just before Thanksgiving, so they came for Christmas. It was really nice. They brought a small tree the staff took down right after they left."

Which meant Paul was the one Doctor Jenner said didn't get any visitors.

Paul looked down again, nodding, "Yeah. That's me. I... I'd rather not get into it."

He glanced back up, offering a shadow of a smile, "I'm glad you're awake, though. I was really impulsive yesterday. Desperate, actually. I'm sorry. I didn't want to hurt you."

Yeah, he'd said that. Just wanted to talk. Guess he got what he wanted.

"Yeah," Paul said, sighing, "Guess I did. I... I'll go. I'll try not to listen in."

He was gone before Daryl could say anything, think anything about the words. A small thought echoed in the back of his head, tiny and quickly squashed, saying he didn't want Paul to go. Wanted to learn more. But it was drowned out with the easy anger that came when Daryl didn't want to have to process what he was dealing with, just make it go away.

He yanked the door to the toilet open, fuming and startling the nurse that had her hand raised to knock on the door. The relieved smile on her face was wiped away by his snarl and growl to get out of his way. He'd feel bad about it later, after he had a few hours to himself to start feeling regret.

**=*=**

The new Doctor was named Siddiq and despite Daryl's ill demeanor, kept an optimism about him that made Daryl feel a bit sour about how he was acting. Guy was only trying to help, after all. He came in around noon, bringing with him a light meal for Daryl just to get something in his stomach. He did a basic check of all monitors and then started asking Daryl about how he was feeling. He didn't like the report of dizziness from when Daryl got up that morning, and made a couple notes before continuing.

He checked Daryl's vision, sliding a finger in front of him and watching to make sure Daryl was focusing on it and responding properly. Then he moved on to hearing and when satisfied, had Daryl attempt to stand again. This time the dizziness didn't last more than a couple seconds and Daryl was able to walk from one side of the room to the other. When he was back in bed, the doctor asked some questions pertaining to why Daryl was a the facility, explaining that it was about making sure his memory didn't seem impaired. 

When he was done, he set his chart aside, "Well, outside of the dizziness you aren't showing any troubling symptoms, so I don't believe there's any real risk to you beyond the normal ones for a mild concussion. You'll want to limit your physical activity, particularly standing, to as little as possible for the next couple days. Until the dizziness when standing up goes away entirely. Anything that causes a headache as well. So if the lights being on or watching television, or even reading start troubling you, stop the activity immediately. We'll continue to monitor you, but I think we can take you off the IV. I'll have a wheelchair brought in and a nurse assigned to you should you want to move around the facility until your symptoms pass."

Siddiq made to leave and Daryl lifted a hand toward him. He still felt like shit and wasn't happy with this, but he needed to know about the penis pills and the pay out he was missing out on now. That money was important.

Siddiq stopped and looked at him expectantly.

Daryl dropped his hand and his eyes before he spoke, "The uh... the trial I signed up for. That gonna keep goin' after I'm... good?"

Siddiq raised his eyebrows and took another look at his notes before looking back at Daryl, "Actually, it says here you're to be discharged once you're feeling better. The Chief of Medicine here, Doctor Jenner, has decided that it would be medically unsafe to continue such trials after what happened to you. He'll be in to speak with you prior to your discharge to go over any paperwork involved in that. It's something I'm not privy to."

"He? Thought the Doc was a woman. Candace."

"You met her?" Siddiq seemed pleased. "Yes, that's Doctor Jenner's wife. Doctor Jenner, Edwin Jenner, I mean, is Chief of Medicine for this facility. Candace was offered a joint Chief position, but she declined. She'd rather be more involved with her pet research projects. She's a lovely woman. Very dedicated. I assume that means you were visiting the coma patients?"

Daryl shrugged, kept his eyes down, "Was explorin' the other day. 'Fore the whole," he gestured toward his head, "thing."

"Well, if you'd like to visit them again, no one will object. In fact," the doctor said, moving to the small pile of reading material Daryl had been provided the first night and pulled out a paperback, "take a book with you. Read to them. If they can hear you, then it's better entertainment than they usually get. If they can't, then no harm and no foul."

Siddiq smiled brightly, setting the book on the table, and left.

Daryl chewed at a thumb and stared at the book until the nurse arrived with his wheelchair.

 


	6. Day 4

He didn't leave his room until the next morning, after a plain breakfast had been brought by the nurse that was to stick around and wheel him places. She brought with her a book to read in case he wanted to stick around his room again. Which he did for about an hour or so before he grunted to get her attention and muttered that he wanted to see their library.

She went to help him as he stood, the dizziness stronger first thing in the morning same as it had been the day before, but he growled at her he could do it himself. So she kept back just far enough not to be in his personal space. Still close enough to catch him if he started to fall while he moved from the bedside to the wheelchair and got settled. He shut his eyes once he was sitting and let her move him out the door and down the hall.

The so-called 'library' was just a small, private, waiting room with two bookshelves. One stuffed with books mostly left by overnight trial patients, as the nurse explained, and the other with magazines that came and went. Some were probably a few years old. They never really cleared anything out. 

Daryl had her stop him right next to the bookshelf full of books and took his time looking through them. Most of them were the cheap sort of paperbacks you could find on the New York Bestsellers clearance racks for 50% off. Or so the stickers on them attested. Unsurprising there. Quick to pick up and not worth keeping past a day or two of reading. There were some older fiction books, too. Mysteries and westerns. A couple sci-fi and a fair bit of romance. He had no real interest in the latter, but hell, if Paul Rovia really was in that room, then he might as well get some payback on the man for putting him where he was.

Daryl snagged the oldest looking Harlequin on the shelf and one of the modern mysteries that looked decently interesting. Then he had his nurse wheel him back out.

**=*=**

When she parked him in the observation room, he asked her who was who. He felt a chill run down his spine as she pointed to one Rick Grimes, one Gregory Jameson, and one Paul Rovia. Paul was the first bed with Rick next and Gregory third, in the order they'd arrived at the facility. Three more empty beds on their row filled out the line.  **  
**

Rick had visitors today. Saturday mornings Paul had said. And so it was. A kid who couldn't be much older than twelve and a tall, thin woman with straight hair hanging down to her ass were sitting between Rick and Gregory's beds. The kid was reading off a report card and stopped mid-sentence as Daryl was parked between Rick and Paul's bed.

They both looked a little surprised and didn't hide their stares until Daryl cleared his throat and lifted his books up, "Hear ta read to 'em. Supposed ta help."

Lori, he supposed if Paul had been right so far than he was right about her name, too, shut her trap with a snap and looked away suitably embarrassed at her reaction to him. Guess the other two really didn't get many visitors if the two were that surprised to see him. Carl, on the other hand, just kept staring at him. Even Lori's quiet 'You're being impolite' didn't get him to stop.

After a slightly louder warning from his mother, Carl declared loudly, "I'm telling my dad what grades I got. I can read it louder."

"Carl!" Lori hissed, causing him to turn and look at her.

"But If reading helps, then I can read to all of them," the kid protested, his pure little heart shining through.

"We can finish telling your father, but then we should leave them alone to get read to," she insisted. It was clear some manner of proper Southern propriety had been ingrained in her. That or Daryl just looked enough like shit she wanted to get her kid out of there.

"But mom," Carl whined and got shut down immediately with a threat to have them leave right then and there. Carl huffed for a bit, but eventually gave in and read the rest of his report card off quietly. Daryl still heard it all, but he pretended he wasn't paying attention since the boy's Momma was clearly so uncomfortable with his presence.

He instead took to studying Paul. The person that was supposedly the same one who had visited him three times so far. The guy in the bed held a resemblance to him. Cheeks were a lot shallower and the mouth was partly hidden by the oxygen tube they had sticking out of it and his nose. His skin was paler, having had no sun for however long he'd been in there. Hair was the same color, though. And just as long. Maybe a little longer, though that could just be how it was laying down one shoulder with the bulk of it pulled into a loose ponytail at the side of his neck. Easy access for care, he had to assume. The beard wasn't so much non-existent as it was trimmed to accommodate his tubes and kept much, much shorter without requiring them to shave him clean once a week. He was dressed in the standard hospital gown with one of the advanced armbands around his right bicep along with being hooked up to monitors the old fashioned way. All three of them were. Like the other two, Paul's arms were laid to either side of his body and he was tucked in under the covers that reached to his waist.

Daryl glanced up as Lori stood and softly ushered Carl out of the room. Carl waved to him and he lifted a couple fingers to acknowledge the kid. Gave a polite nod to his momma as they closed the door and she glanced back at him with concern she tried to hide with a quick, fake smile. He waited until they had moved past the observation window to turn his attention to the books in his lap.

"Don't know if you can hear me, Prick," he muttered quietly, voice hushed so it didn't go too far. He wasn't really here for the other two, just Paul, so it seemed the polite thing to do. "But if you can, you deserve this."

He lifted the romance up and cleared his throat, "Love, Actually Press Presents: Wicked Nuptials. Paula planned to get close to Derek and seduce him into marriage. She'd done it a dozen times before, always breaking the hearts of those she'd chosen and walking away after the divorce with half their money. The plan was flawless, save that she didn't count on falling for Derek. What was it about him, about this one man, that made him so different then all the rest?"

Daryl paused, certain he'd heard a choked laugh. He frowned, squinted his eyes at Paul's still body, and listened for a few heartbeats. All was quiet in the room.

Shaking his head to clear it, he flipped the cover open and started reading the dollar store drivel.

 


	7. Discharge

Daryl was back in the coma observation room, this time reading from the mystery novel, when a knock and a cleared throat caught his attention. He'd finished up the dreadful romance in a couple hours the day before and by the time he was done he knew he was hearing small echos of Paul's voice here and there. He couldn't really hear him as clearly as he had the first two times, but there was no mistaking the sound of the man making comments about the reading material Daryl had brought him. Most of it was difficult to understand, though at one point he had heard the distinct question of "you picked it because she's named Paula didn't you?" To which, Daryl had refrained from answering since it was obvious.

Turning around and folding over the edge of the page he was on, Daryl spied a man he had yet to meet. Guy was dressed in a Doctor's coat and had short, wispy hair.

He offered a smile, "Hope I'm not interrupting at an important part."

Daryl shrugged, choosing to remain quiet.

The doctor waited a second more, then entered the room properly, coming over to sit on the edge of the bed that was in front of Paul's. His smile didn't really falter, like he was used to people waiting for him to speak, "My name is Doctor Jenner. I'm the Chief of Medicine here. Generally I don't have to make personal visits to trial patients, so I hope you'll forgive any shortcomings I have when speaking to you today."

He waited once more and when Daryl once again shrugged, continued, "As you are aware, on the second day of your clinical trial, you experienced a highly unusual response to the formula we were testing. And by that I mean, you're the only one to have ever passed out from it. We did blood work and investigated the incident to the best of our ability. From what we can tell, there was some sort of antispasmodic in your system and no trace of the formula we were looking to test. What this means is that somehow the medicine you were here to test got switched with something you weren't supposed to take."

"That's malpractice, ain't it," Daryl finally spoke up, eyebrows raising. From the way Jenner stiffened and looked down at his hands, Daryl was right.

"Technically... yes," Jenner admitted. "As the situation wasn't life-threatening, however, we'd like to leave any legalities between us and not have it brought up to the pharmaceutical company we were doing the trial for. Such mistakes are very rare and we're not even sure how it was made just yet, or who made it. If there's a way we could settle this quietly, we'd prefer to do that. You will still be paid for your trial participation, of course, and your treatment here will be free of charge. But-"

"But we'd like to offer you a job," Candace announced, walking into the room and smiling at her husband who was clearly not expecting that announcement and running roughshod over him. "As further compensation should you choose to allow us the opportunity. It won't be a difficult job. It's just doing what you've been doing the past couple days. Coming in here for a few hours and reading to the patients. We know some external stimulation is helpful, but we don't really have the staff to provide it on a regular basis. I've asked the nurses to come in here on their breaks and do some, but most of them only do it for a day, maybe two, before they get distracted and forget to continue. Or choose not to. It's not really a request we can enforce."

She held out a folder with a hiring contract already prepared. Whatever plans regarding negotiation her husband had been making, she'd already scrubbed those. He looked like he wanted to protest, but that would mean openly admitting he wasn't prepared for her to make this offer and a solid front was something he probably wanted to provide.

"We can pay $300 a week for you to come in every day between 9AM and 8PM for three to four hours to read to them and write down any visual observations you can should it look like they're responding, as well as alert the staff. It's unlikely they'll respond physically, but on the off chance having an eyewitness account and someone to press the call button immediately is important."

Daryl glanced at the contract, having never seen one so detailed before. Usually his jobs were just a handshake sort of deal and an agreement of cash for a finished job. 300 a week. That was what? 1200 a month. Not bad, but not nearly enough to pay rent on a motel room he could keep his bike at and feel safe having it there for more than a couple days along with food and clothes. 

"450 a week," he shot back, not elaborating beyond: "Got rent ta pay."

Candace was prepared, "300 a week and we provide you a private room and board. The paperwork you filled out shows you aren't from the area, so you don't have an apartment nearby. While 450 would be perfectly reasonable for someone looking for a place, if we provide you with a room and access to the kitchen, that should cover the difference."

It should, and it would mean they wouldn't have to be paying out of pocket for anything more than the facility already paid for. And while it was an unusual offer, one Daryl expected they wouldn't normally make, well...

"Must be desperate not ta have this known by ya sponsors," he grunted out and wrote in the part about him getting a room and board on the contract. Sure he could probably try to sue for more money, but that would mean finding a lawyer and giving them time to can the evidence of their mess up in some way. This gave him a place to say, food to eat, and cash in hand. 

He didn't sign it right off, though, looking it over again, "How long is the contract good for?"

Candace smiled and it was a soft one, surprisingly honest considering the circumstances, "One year or until all study patients have been removed, whichever comes first. It's right at the end, in the cause for dismissal clauses, under section C: Execution of Contract."

Daryl tapped the pen against the folder, reading through those a little more thoroughly, then finally signed it. He noticed one of the causes for dismissal was speaking publicly about the malpractice. He was under one of those non disclosure things. Merle had always warned him about taking any job that made him sign one. But Merle wasn't here and Daryl was getting a lot better than he usually did when it came to work.

Candace took the folder back and handed it to her husband to sign as well, she patted Daryl on the shoulder, "Thank you so much. Finish up whenever. Siddiq has your dismissal paperwork for when you're done and we'll see you here tomorrow. Be sure to bring in what you'll need for the H.R. Department to file the proper IRS forms. You'll be given a security badge and a time card."

She snapped the folder up from her husband's hands, leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek, and left. Daryl watched her walk down the hall past the window and after she was out of sight, looked at the other Doctor Jenner.

He was looking at where she'd disappeared and when he turned back to Daryl, cleared his throat and stood up, "Well, that's taken care of so I won't take any more of your time. It was nice to meet you Mr. Dixon."

Daryl waited until he was out of the room to snort. Even if Mr. Doctor Jenner was Chief of Medicine, it was Mrs. Doctor Jenner that ran the place. 

He took a deep breath and rubbed his face. He wasn't really in the mood to keep reading no more. Daryl held up his book and signaled for the nurse to come inside the room and take him back to his. God he hoped that wasn't the one they gave him tomorrow.


	8. Identity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No trigger warnings, notes at chapter end are for specific quote reference

The H.R. Department took a couple hours to get Daryl set up with the security badge that tripled as parking pass and kitchen pay card, a set of nurses scrubs in the volunteer colors so people knew he wasn't medical staff, and a private room with a slightly larger bathroom than his previous one. This room was upstairs, on the third floor, and had a window. It was one of the 'VIP' patient rooms. They didn't have many who qualified as that so of the 12 rooms, only three were occupied. Four if you counted him. His was the one at the very end of the U-Shaped hall that circled around from the elevators to the stairs. It kept him away from the patients that currently called the floor home without making any kind of fuss over it. He was told where to shop for the scrubs he'd need to buy himself for when he was on the clock after his first paycheck. The ones he'd been given would work until then. And then he was left to his own devices to move in.

The room itself was actually surprisingly nice. The bed was still a hospital one, but the biggest they had. Almost twin bed sized but a little longer so he had room to stretch a bit. There were two plush chairs and a small coffee table next to the window. On the wall opposite the bed was a set of built in shelves and cabinets with the television mounted to the wall. Checking the drawers he found that some of them held basic medical supplies, while the ones front and center were empty. Those were for him to use, then. The rest he'd leave alone. For the time being, he dumped his saddlebag of possessions on the bed and headed into the shower room to change. He didn't see any signs of cameras set up, but he wasn't going to take a chance.

When he got down to the observation room, he was able to let himself in with the security pass. He'd already been clocked in for the day, with the short tour and paperwork time considered to be a part of first day on the clock duties. The book he'd been reading the day before was in his hands and he settled in on the bed where Jenner had sat to continue his reading.

He finished up another three chapters before his watch said he was due to clock out. Paul had been quiet the whole time and Daryl felt more than a little disappointed at that. He'd kind of been hoping to hear the echo of that laugh again. Even when he tried to remember it, he knew he was remembering it wrong.

**=*=**

The first week went like that. Daryl coming in, reading, waiting to hear Paul's voice echo around him and getting nothing out of it. He ended up frustrating himself because he didn't know why he wanted to hear it so badly. Tried to argue it was just so he knew he hadn't made it up, but that wasn't really part of it. He believed full that he hadn't. The things Paul had said before he'd gone in there the first time to read had pretty much convinced him right then and there.

But being frustrated and angry over not hearing nothing from the man since was doing Daryl no good. And the lack of selection of books didn't help, either. He spent his first paycheck buying a couple sets of the scrubs they wanted him to and then headed for a bookstore. One of the big ones. The kind he wasn't able to go in except once or twice on the excuse he wanted to take a look at their Bibles because that was the one book their Daddy wouldn't scoff at he or Merle for reading and 'filling yer head with nonsense that don't matter none'. Once they were out of school the only reading the could get away with in his presence was the Bible or magazines on hunting and fishing and cars or motorcycles. Skin mags weren't for reading and no one pretended otherwise.

Daryl had his preferences, though, when he could exercise them. He liked the stuff on nature, plants and animals, and the stuff about myths and legends associated with natural things. Even held a secret little spot in his heart for poetry. Especially of the First Nations sort. The people that had been on American soil long before the settlers tore them from their homes. 

He ended up buying four books and spending half his paycheck on them. Books were fucking expensive when you weren't buying the cheap-ass popular ones on sale. He'd have to remember that next time he went looking for something new. Though he had the expectation that these would last him a while.

**=*=**

Daryl didn't debut the new material right away. Finished up the other two books he'd already picked out and promised the trio he'd read to them. It took another week before he could break out his new stuff. He chose to clock in around four that day. He usually went in as early as possible and stuck around til just after lunch, but the floor was more active then, and he was feeling a little shy. Like he was sharing a part of himself by bringing this one down.

"Got a poetry book for you tonight," he murmured, dragging a chair over next to Paul's bed and keeping his voice low so it wouldn't carry to the other two. This was something he wanted to share with Paul, and Paul alone, if he could.

"Got some others stuff, too, for after, but wanted to read this one to you."

He cleared his throat and read:

_I have never felt so empty, forced to experience this emotion_

_Alone, tears racing, falling hard_

_Pain screams, louder_

_Time stands still_

_Emptiness_

_I never asked for this, why lonliness_

_My eyes sore, my madness nauseating_

_Heartache at every beat, I pray to the Creator_

_Asking for guidance_

_Hold my hand, please lead me_

_Closing my eyes, I promised, "I will be strong"_

_I will heal_

_Awakened to the power of existance_

_A voice whispers, "I am always here for you"_

_Realizing my identity was fading_

_Today I stand strong_

_I have control_

_This is my identity_

Daryl shut the book, leaned on an elbow and chewed at a thumb, eyes looking at Paul but not really seeing him. He let out a long sigh, "Thought it might help you somehow. I don't know... encourage you, maybe... It's not really about comas or the sort of pain you probably been through. More about Native folks being pushed aside by us stupid dicks and fighting to keep a sense of their culture... Anyway, it... it's a good poem, ya know? Reads real nice..."

He shut his eyes and sighed again. Stood to put the book away and grab the one he'd been planning to read to the three of them. 

A voice, barely there, whispered into his head, stopped him:

"Read me another?"

  **=Elsewhere=**

_"See? His brain activity is the highest it's been in months."_

_"Are we sure it's the person and not the activity?"_

_"Absolutely. We've had others do the same and he's never responded like this. I'm telling you, the two incidents with Mr. Dixon were related. There's no way they couldn't be at this point."_

_"But the evidence is so thin..."_

_"Until we find a way to better track what he's doing, the electronic interference at the same time his brain activity spiked on those days is the only real method we have. The only firm evidence, 'thin' as it is."_

_"...alright. Let's say for argument's sake that it's Mr. Dixon he's reacting to and not merely the presence of someone new and therefore interesting by default. Is the activity we're seeing at risk of pulling him out? We can't continue the study if he wakes up."_

_"I don't believe so. At least, not at this time. And if it does start to become one, we can resume the previous regimen that kept him under originally. It's proven effective in the past. I see no reason for it to not continue to be."_

_"Fine. Keep me informed of any further abnormalities. What of the other two?"_

_"Neither have shown any reaction to the formula. The differences in how they came to be in comas are the likely cause. Of the three, Mr. Rovia's the only one to experience any sort of head trauma. I think it would be a waste of resources to continue to hold them. Mr. Grimes has especially been difficult to keep under. He reacts strongly to his son's presence every time they visit. I think it would be best to let him come to and release him from our care."_

_"And what of-"_

_"Pull the plug. His family barely visits and they would have pulled it already if not for the offer of the study. He's nothing to us."_

_"Alright. I'll see that your recommendations are passed along to Doctor Jenner during tomorrow's meeting."_

_"Thank you, Doctor Edwards."_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem, "Identity", for which this chapter is named, is by Carlene George and can be found in the book _'Tea and Bannock: First Nations Community of Poetic Voices'_


	9. Waking Up

It was only a couple days after Daryl started reading from the poetry book that Gregory Jameson left the facility. Not because he woke up or was cured, but because his heart quietly, and finally, gave out on him around two in the morning. After a good forty minutes of trying to save him, the doctor on duty had to call his time of death. Daryl was informed by one of the nurses when he came in to read that morning with genuine tears in her eyes that she kept wiping away. A sentiment he could only barely share because he barely knew the guy. Was just a body in a room. He had more of a connection with Rovia and Grimes than he'd ever had with the old man no one seemed to care about. But he understood the loss even if he didn't really feel it. Man had been there for more than a few months, was considered a fixture as much as the other two, and seeing as how he didn't make no fuss, the few nurses that regularly cared for the coma patients had grown bit attached to him.

The details of his death were the main subject of the office gossip the whole rest of the day and into the next. Something Daryl had started to listen in on more attentively as he got used to living at the facility and being around the cafeteria more during meal times. People's thoughts and feelings were spread in quiet and not-so-quiet whispers that he overheard. Most were sympathetic to the loss of a patient and the failure weighing heavily on the doctor on duty. Someone named Carson that he hadn't met yet. No one blamed him for the loss, of course. Only so much could be done. But that didn't mean he didn't feel it.

Most of that talk stopped, however, when Grimes woke up on the next Wednesday. Mr. Jameson forgotten in face of the miracle.

Daryl was there, putting his books away and getting ready to beat out of the room to give the family some privacy when a dry, weak voice croaked out a barely there 'Carl' as the kid babbled on about something or other his friends were doing. Lori was out of the room, talking in the hall and having what looked like an intense conversation with some guy with dark, curly hair. The kid didn't notice the noise at first, but it was just odd enough to prick at Daryl's ears and make him pause to listen a little longer.

The croak came again and he turned his head to see the man's face twitch and jerk oddly as his mouth slowly shut and he gulped down some air. Looked like he was fighting to open his eyes maybe. Carl still hadn't noticed, his back was turned to the man while he dug through his bag and continued talking.

"Kid."

Daryl's word was louder, enough to catch Carl's attention. The boy glanced over at him, uncertain as his eyes went to the window, then grew as big as dinner plates as as a groan filled the silence between them.

Carl's head whipped around to look at his dad. Just in time to see his head roll to the side and his mouth open and close. The sound had come from him. 

Daryl's hand slammed on the call button as Carl lurched forward and grabbed at his father, shouting excitedly while the man's eyes fluttered open. The yelling caught the attention of Lori and the strange man and both stood locked in shock at what they were seeing from outside the window while staff rushed passed them and into the room. Their attempts to get the kid away from his dad were futile until Lori stormed into the room and pulled him forcefully away. She had to shush him and tell him the people needed space. The stranger came in, too, and Daryl somehow got roped into ushering the three of them to the other side of the room to keep them clear of the staff.

He wasn't sure what concerns there were with someone waking up from a coma, but Rick's only one seemed to be his son. His voice croaking out 'Carl, Carl' over and over until Mrs. Doctor Jenner finally deemed it safe for the kid to be back at his side haunted Daryl's thoughts for the rest of the day.

**=*=**

"Guess it's just you and me," Daryl murmured after a good ten minutes of sitting in the chair next to Paul's bed the day after the 'miracle' happened. Rick's old bed was now as clean and tidy as the rest of the empty ones in the too-large space. "They moved that Grimes guy to a private room. Gonna keep him there until he's safe to walk on his own."

"I know," Paul's words felt like they were coming from somewhere to his left. As soft as ever, but less like they were fighting to be heard through a foot of water the way they sometimes did. "I'm going to miss him."

"His family's real excited about it. Staff put him up on the same floor I'm on. Was thinkin' about visitin'. Maybe."

Paul let out a 'mmm' and the voice moved, like the guy was walking around. Daryl's eyes flicked over to the metal on an empty bed and could just make out what looked like a human form moving around. The surface acting like a mirror. Only blurrier. When Paul stopped moving and Daryl lost track of the shadow, he said, "I think he'd like that. He enjoyed most of the stuff you read. Thought you had a decent sense of humor."

"Maybe," Daryl repeated, shifting in his seat and letting his gaze fall to the book in his lap. He'd been planning on reading the final chapter today.

"You should take it and read it to him."

Daryl idly tapped the edge of the book with one thumb, "Don't know if it's worth readin' twice."

"You don't have to. Go on up. I can follow."

He still hesitated to go. It was nearing ten in the morning and he technically had all day to come down and read to Paul after. But he didn't want to intrude, neither.

"I promise, he'll be happy to see you. And if he's not, you can read me another crappy romance novel."

Daryl snorted despite his best effort not to respond to Paul in a way that would make it seem like he was carrying on an actual conversation. Didn't need the staff thinking he'd gone crazy. It wasn't unusual for people to talk to those who couldn't talk back and Daryl was being paid to do it, so he didn't feel he had to hide the talking. Just the actual conversations being had part.

He hid his face in one hand for a moment and took a deep breath. Then he stood up and made his way to the door. It wasn't so much Paul's prompting that made him want to reach out. He'd been wondering for a while what Rick was actually like. Everything he'd gotten was second hand information or impressions formed from how the man's family acted. And while he trusted Paul's assessments, it still wasn't enough for him to feel like he knew the guy he'd been reading to for the last few weeks.

**=*=**

The trek upstairs felt like it took both far too long and not nearly enough time to get himself together. The other residents of the floor were already curious about their new neighbor, but fortunately it looked like they were largely staying away. Just standing and gawking a bit. They'd probably swoop in sometime in the next few days once it was clear Rick was sticking around for a while. 

Daryl had to clear his throat a couple times to get the small crowd to part and let him through from the elevator. Dresses as he was in scrubs they didn't look at him too oddly once they did. He did hear someone whisper something about 'probably to lift him' and a murmur of agreement. Seeing as how he was a lot bigger in the shoulders than most of the attendants, he supposed it wasn't a far-fetched assumption on their parts. At least it meant they'd probably give him space from now on if he came 'round to see the Grimes man again.

At the door, he stopped to peek in and see if Rick was awake. He seemed to be. A larger woman in a doctors coat and wearing glasses she kept pushing up her nose was talking to him quietly. She wasn't someone Daryl was familiar with, but she had a friendly smile. Daryl cleared his throat and knocked when a lull in the conversation came along. 

Both of them looked over. The doctor with surprise and Rick with confused expectation. He was definitely used to attendants and nurses coming and going by now, barely 20 hours after waking. Didn't know what Daryl was there for, but ready to accept whatever it was.

The doctor, on the other hand, shifted in her seat and adjusted her glasses, then checked her watch, "I was told I'd have a full hour with Mr. Grimes before his next vitals were taken. Has something come up?"

"Uh, no," Daryl shook his head, voice soft as he entered past the door and stopped, standing awkwardly in the entryway. "Was uh... just comin' ta see how he was. I uh... I used ta read ta him..." He held the book of poetry up. "When he was in the coma, I mean."

Any response the doctor had was cut short by Rick's hoarse voice rasping out in a thick southern accent, "I know you. Yer Daryl."

"Oh! You do remember hearing him!" The doctor gasped, face brightening as she stood up. "That's great! That's one of the things I wanted to ask you about." She turned to Daryl and waved him over. "Come in! Sit down."

He hesitated a moment before moving to the other side of the room and grabbing one of the chairs to pull up next to the bed. The doctor came around to his side and held out her hand, "Doctor Jenner has been insistent that reading to the patients in the Coma Ward is good for their mental health. And I agree. It's just that whether or not someone remembers what's said to them in that state is a very inconsistent thing. The more we learn about it the better."

She paused for a second, then added, "Oh, right. I'm Denise Cloyd. Psychatrist. I'm going to be Rick's therapist as he recovers and tries to remember as much as he can about his experience. It's nice to meet you, Daryl."

Daryl took her hand and gave it a slow shake before letting it drop. His attention turned back to Rick as she walked back around to the other side of the bed. Rick was staring at him. Studying him. 

"You uh..." Daryl started, taking a deep breath and trying to keep his hand still so he wouldn't look as nervous as he felt. "You woke up 'fore I could finish the book. Was thinkin' ya might wanna hear the end of it."

Rick's brows tightened up, though his tired face had a smile on it. He rolled his head over to look at Dr. Cloyd, then rasped out, "That be okay?"

"Well, we really need to finish the interview so I can have as much initial reaction information as possible. But uh," she smiled cheerfully, "after I'm done, you can go right ahead."

"Do I need to go?" Daryl asked, uncertain if he should be around for the interview.

Cloyd froze up for a second, a look passing over her face that said she'd clearly forgotten the interview should be private in her excitement over Rick remembering Daryl's voice.

Daryl didn't wait a moment longer and stood up, "I'll wait outside. Keep the vultures at bay."

"Right! That's uh, that's a great idea. Thank you," Denise said, relaxing with relief that Daryl hadn't needed any further hint. Once he was out of the room, he could just hear the murmur of her voice somewhere behind him, but not anything clear enough to know what was being said. She was well practiced and not having her voice carry.

**=*=**

It took about twenty minutes from Daryl's estimation for the nurse to come up and knock on the door, telling Dr. Cloyd that it was time for Rick's vitals and to get some rest. Denise left quietly and stopped a couple feet away from the door, nodding her head for Daryl to come over and talk for a moment. Still feeling a bit nervous, he shuffled over all the same.

"Hey, I wanted to thank you. For reading to Rick. I know you're getting paid to do that and all, but he said that he remembers your voice and name real well because of how often you've been doing it. Right now a lot of what he remembers is hazy, so that he's able to clearly pick you out when all he had to go on was your voice, is kind of huge," she murmured excitedly. "I can't share more with you, of course, but I think it would be good for Rick if you continued to come see him when he's feeling up to company. And if you do, maybe at some point you and I can talk, too? About Rick I mean. And how he responds to you. It'll help to assess how well his recovery is going. Mentally and emotionally. Physically, that's being handled by someone else."

Daryl stared the whole time she spoke and after she went quiet, he blinked a couple times, then nodded and grunted, "Sure. I can do that."

"Great! After the nurse leaves, go ahead and say hi to Rick again. If he's up to being read to, do the reading, but when you leave, please shut the door. The other residents won't give him privacy unless you do."

He nodded again and Dr. Cloyd walked off with a small wave, moving around the small crowd of upper floor long-term residents, who didn't bother to move for her. She didn't seem to mind. Probably something to do with the whole knowing how people think thing she had going on as a psychiatrist. Or maybe she just didn't care cause she had no place to be with any kind of urgency.

Daryl's thoughts were cut short as the nurse exited the room and frowned at the other residents. She started chastising them for just hanging around and getting on a couple of cases for being late to one therapy or another. Daryl used the opportunity to slip quietly and unobtrusively into the room.

Rick was still awake, the smile on his lips growing with some clear effort.

"You don't gotta say nothin' if it hurts ta talk," Daryl said softly, making his way over to the chair he'd abandoned earlier. "I can jus' read ta ya for a bit. Finish out the book."

Rick took a deep breath, forced his mouth to shut in that way that said his natural reaction was to utter a 'sure' or an 'okay' and had to stop himself, then nodded. He shifted in bed to get more comfortable as Daryl opened the book and started back right where he'd left off. By the time he was closing the last page, Rick had fallen asleep.

"He really appreciated that," Jesus murmured into his ear, louder than usual, like he was right next to Daryl. "He'll tell you himself, the next time you come see him."

Daryl heaved a big sigh and stood up, nodding to himself and to Jesus, even though he couldn't see the man. He left the room, shut the door like he was asked, and headed back downstairs to do the job he was paid to do.

 


End file.
